Texasville (37 page)

“You don’t look too cheerful, honey pie,” Jacy said, when Duane sat down beside her. “Come to supper after the rehearsal. Nellie’s making pasta. We’ll watch a movie or something.”

Duane felt grateful for the invitation. Going home to an empty house and listening to Junior Nolan practice his coyote calls was not enticing. Still, thinking about going to Jacy’s house made him feel hesitant. He didn’t answer right away. Jacy continued to leaf through the hymnbook, occasionally humming to herself. When she looked at him again she seemed amused.

“Don’t strain your brain, sweetie,” she said. “If you’re not up to social life tonight, just forget it.”

“No, I want to come,” he said quickly.

“I guess I make you nervous, don’t I?” she said.

“Well, I got in the habit of feeling I shouldn’t intrude,” he said.

“A person who’s invited isn’t intruding,” Jacy pointed out. “Besides, it’s mostly your own family you’d be intruding on.
You’re being a touch too sensitive. We’re just gonna eat pasta and watch a movie.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to be too sensitive,” Duane said. “When’s dinner, then?”

“I don’t know, Duane, now I feel like I’ve pressured you,” Jacy said. “If you’d just said yes right away it would have been fine, but now
I’m
getting nervous. Maybe you would be intruding.”

Duane felt annoyed with himself. He had finicked around, for no reason, and complicated a simple invitation. Or at least it should have been simple, but in fact it involved Jacy and he didn’t have a simple feeling about her. He wasn’t in love with her, but not being in love and having a simple feeling were different things.

“I guess we’ll have to work up to this a little longer,” Jacy said, looking a little depressed.

“No, we don’t really,” he said. “When you asked me it just made me feel shy for a minute. It’s silly. I’d like to come and eat.

“I guess it’s partly that you’re doing better with my family than I’ve ever done,” he added. “I feel like I should keep my fingers crossed and stay out of the way.”

“It’s easy to do things with other people’s children,” Jacy said. “You aren’t responsible for them, so you can relax.”

She looked at him quizzically for a moment.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Let’s pretend this conversation was just a rehearsal. We’ve just been rehearsing getting to know one another again, after thirty years.”

She looked at him and shut the hymnal.

“Take two,” she said. “You don’t look too cheerful, honey pie. Come to dinner. Nellie’s making pasta. We’ll watch a movie or something.”

“Fine,” Duane said. “I’ll help you set the table.”

CHAPTER 53

S
HORTY RODE TO
L
OS
D
OLORES WITH HIM FOR OLD
times’ sake. But instead of lolling in the seat, licking himself, Shorty stood up with his paws on the dashboard. He watched the Mercedes just ahead. Part of the road to Los Dolores was dirt, and when they turned off the pavement the Mercedes disappeared into the dust. Shorty immediately began to whimper.

Julie had ridden with him too. When Shorty began to whimper she pounded him on the head.

“Shut up, you slop dog,” she said. She pounded him some more, but Shorty continued to whimper.

“Honk, so I can ride with them,” Julie said. “I hate riding with a slop dog.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” Duane said, relieved to see that Julie had not become a total angel under Jacy’s tutelage.

“I suppose you’re a big-time chef now, like your sister,” he said.

“I am not,” Julie said. “Jack and I are cutting a record.”

“Cutting a record?” Duane said. “Where?”

“Right in the house,” Julie said. “There’s all sorts of equipment.”

“What song is it you’re recording?” Duane asked, intrigued.

“Just a song,” Julie said.

“Punk or country-and-western?” he asked.

Julie snickered. “Punk,” she said. “Jack and I wrote it.”

“That’s great news,” Duane said. “Maybe you two will become rich songwriters pretty soon. You can take care of me in my old age.”

Julie managed to push Shorty into the floorboards. She held him down with her feet.

“Sing me the song,” Duane suggested.

“No, it might shock you,” Julie said.

“Up until a few days ago I lived with you and Jack and Nellie and your mother,” he said. “Nothing could possibly shock me.”

“The song’s called ‘Vaseline,’” Julie said. “It’s about getting off.”

“Julie, you found the one combination that could shock me,” Duane said.

“I warned you,” Julie said.

“Who have you been getting off with?” Duane asked. “That’s the aspect that shocks me.”

“Oh, Daddy, it’s just about masturbation,” Julie said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s a relief,” Duane said.

By the time they reached Los Dolores Duane’s sense of hesitancy had returned. He felt strangely reluctant to go into the house. It felt as if he were entering a world where he didn’t belong.

He was obviously the only one who felt that way, though. Dickie’s pickup was there, and Dickie himself was in the large kitchen, rolling a joint. Little Mike wandered around, crooning in his own language. Jacy put Barbette on the kitchen table. She kicked her feet and looked solemnly at her uncle.

“Look around, Duane,” Jacy said. “I’ll help Nellie get dinner started.”

Duane wandered through the house, amazed at the number of books it contained. Room after room had bookshelves filled with books from floor to ceiling. The halls were also lined with
books—thousands of them. Duane had never supposed that any one person would want, or own, so many books.

He found Minerva in a den with a large TV and thousands more books. Minerva was watching a baseball game. A picture of a youthful Steve McQueen sat on the TV—perhaps the rumor about him passing through Thalia had been true after all. Several other framed photographs sat on a desk. They were all of beautiful women who looked vaguely familiar.

“This is quite a house,” he said.

“Yeah, you get real good reception down here,” Minerva said.

“And when you get tired of TV you could always find something to read,” Duane said.

“I’d hate to have to read all these books,” Minerva said. “That much reading could put your eyes out.”

Duane wandered down a long book-lined hall. He heard music, partially muffled, coming from behind a door. He knocked, and Jack opened the door. Jack wore dark glasses with rhinestone frames, and very heavy headphones of a sort once associated with test pilots. Now that the door was opened, the music was no longer muffled. The room was full of expensive-looking sound equipment, plus several guitars and a small piano.

Julie was dancing around with a singer’s mike in one hand.

“What’s up? We’re working,” Jack said.

“I don’t think anything is up, unless dinner’s ready,” Duane said.

“I hope it’s ready, I’m starving,” Jack said, and shut the door in his face.

Duane wandered outside. There was a nice patio and a large pool. He had not lost his sense of awkwardness. He was there, but he felt left out. He started to go back into the kitchen but happened to pass the kitchen window. Jacy and Dickie were sitting at the table, finishing the joint. Dickie was talking with some animation, and Jacy seemed to be listening. Nellie worked at the stove, and Minerva was slicing tomatoes.

Such a scene would have been unimaginable to him a few weeks, even a few days, earlier. Now it was both imaginable
and visible. What he wasn’t able to imagine was himself in the midst of it.

After a while, Nellie came out and set the table.

“Mrs. d’Olonne wants to eat out here,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Duane said.

Nellie came back with the pasta, and Minerva brought the tomatoes before going back to her ball game. The twins appeared and immediately filled their plates. Dickie came out, filled a plate and disappeared into the house with it. Then Jacy came out, bringing a bottle of wine. She stopped behind Duane’s chair, put a hand on his shoulder and filled his wineglass.

“Have a little vino,” she said. “Maybe you won’t be so nervous.”

“He’s always nervous,” Jack remarked, expertly twirling pasta around his fork.

“Who can blame him with a child like you under his roof,” Jacy said. “A child who steals vaseline.”

Jack flashed her a brilliant grin, as if proud to be labeled a vaseline thief.

“He steals vaseline?” Duane asked. “Why?”

“As an aid to autoerotic practices, one assumes,” Jacy said.

“Oh,” Duane said.

“You knew that,” Julie said. “I told you about our song.”

“I guess I was hoping you were kidding,” Duane said, looking at Jacy.

“Eat your fettucine, Duane,” Jacy said. “Let Aunt Jacy worry about these kids.”

She reached over and ruffled Jack’s hair.

“What’s a little vaseline between friends?” she said.

“I’ll pay you back if our song gets on the charts,” Jack said.

“I’m thinking of taking these kids to Italy with me when I go back,” Jacy said. “I might make them into little Romans. They don’t have far to go as it is. I’ll get them Hondas and turn them loose in a piazza.”

“I hope you’re not going back before the centennial,” Duane said.

“Why, would Adam miss his Eve?” Jacy asked.

“Yes, and besides that the whole centennial would collapse,” he said.

Little Mike wandered out. Jacy offered him a bite of pasta. Little Mike shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Okay,” Jacy said. “Be that way.” She ate the bite herself.

Little Mike, regretting his decision, reached supplicatingly toward the pasta. Jacy gave him a bite. After savoring it, he turned and sat astraddle of Shorty, who was sleeping nearby. Shorty promptly dumped him on his back. Little Mike began to squall. Jack picked him up by his feet and dangled him over the swimming pool.

“Stop squalling,” Jack said. “If you don’t I’ll drop you.”

Little Mike stopped.

“He knows I mean business,” Jack said.

“You’re a bully,” Julie said. “He’s just a baby. He could develop a fear of water and never learn to swim because of you.”

“Who cares if he learns to swim?” Jack said.

“What if he fell out of a motorboat?” Julie asked.

“What if you fell in a tub of shit,” Jack said.

“What if you drowned in a bucket of puke,” Julie said.

Jacy poured Duane some more wine.

“You’re looking a little less nervous,” she said. “Lulled by the familiar sound of your own children’s invective, I guess.”

“I guess,” Duane said.

“Go work on your getting-off song, kids,” Jacy said. “Leave your father and me in peace. And take your nephew back to his mother, please.”

Jack carried Little Mike into the house by his heels. Nellie soon came out and got the plates.

“That was good, honey,” Duane said.

Nellie smiled at the compliment, but seemed a little downcast.

“I think you’ve got problems with that one,” Jacy said.

“I thought I had problems with all of them,” Duane said.

“Come and meet my girls sometime,” Jacy said. “I’ll show you problems.”

Her remark seemed to depress her.

“How’d you teach Nellie to cook so quick?” Duane asked.

“I haven’t taught her to cook, I just taught her how to make fettucine,” Jacy said in a flat voice. “Let’s go in and watch a movie.”

They went into the house and down a hall, passing the den. Both Minerva and Dickie were now absorbed in the ball game.

“This is the master bedroom,” Jacy said, leading him into a large room. She pulled back some curtains on the south wall, revealing long sliding glass doors, which she opened. The edge of the bluff was only a few feet away from the doors. Below it the plains stretched far to the south. Duane stepped outside a moment. To the southwest he could see one of his own rigs, the lights twinkling on it.

“Is that yours?” Jacy asked.

“Mine today,” Duane said. “I don’t know about next week.”

Jacy turned on a light and began to look through a stack of cassettes by her bed. The house in general had seemed very neat, but the bedroom wasn’t. The bed was piled with magazines and tapes, and there were several wineglasses beside it.

“Don’t look at this mess,” Jacy said. “Do you want to see
Paris, Texas?”

“Whatever you’d like,” Duane said.

“Whatever I’d like,” Jacy repeated. “I guess I’ll have to reflect on my preferences. Excuse me while I do that.”

She disappeared into the bathroom and came back a minute later, wearing a kimono and carrying a hairbrush. She put the cassette into the VCR, came back to the bed and sat down, arranging a variety of pillows.

Duane stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Jacy looked at him in a way that seemed rather unfriendly.

“Are you going to watch the movie standing up?” she asked.

“I’d rather not,” he said.

“Then take your boots off and get comfortable.”

He did as commanded and sat on the bed. Jacy offered him some wine. Somewhat later, when they were into the movie, she offered him her foot to rub.

“My preference is for a foot rub,” she said.

Other than that, she didn’t speak during the film. She left the room once and returned with another bottle of wine. From time to time she put her feet in Duane’s lap to be rubbed. Parts of the movie interested him, parts of it didn’t. He had stopped
feeling nervous and began to feel tired. Once or twice he dozed. Though silent, Jacy seemed wide-awake. Duane tried to stay alert but it became harder and harder. He was sinking into fatigue. When the movie was over Jacy removed her feet from his lap. She picked up a remote-control gadget and clicked the TV off.

“They should have called it ‘Houston, Germany,’” she said.

Duane yawned. He felt so tired he thought he might have to drive home in his stocking feet. He thought he might make it to his pickup, and once in the pickup could make it home, but the amount of energy it would take to pull his boots on was an amount he didn’t believe he could summon. They were new boots, and it was a tussle to get them on.

“Are you as tired as you look?” Jacy asked. She no longer seemed unfriendly.